


on this day, let me give you the world

by wincestgoddess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Sam Winchester, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Finale, Soft Dean Winchester, mention of panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:06:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestgoddess/pseuds/wincestgoddess
Summary: Sam wants to do something for Dean's birthday in Heaven
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 154





	on this day, let me give you the world

“Why is our kitchen on fire?”

“Our kitchen is not on fire! Stop being a smartass and get out.”

“What?”

“Out!”

“This is my goddamn kitchen, I--don’t fucking push me! Okay, fine, I’m going!”

“Go shovel snow or something.”

“That was _one_ time.”

“Three.”

“Whatever, there’s no snow left anyway.”

“Well then go drink a beer, I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you want me in the kitchen?”

“...”

“Sam.”

“It’s… a surprise.”

“Sammy, are you _cooking_ for me on my birthday?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

“Pleasantly surprised. Not shocked.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...What’cha making?”

“I said out!”

“C’mon. It’s not a surprise anymore, you can at least tell me what you’re attempting to cook.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“I don’t appreciate your gigantic ass making a mess in _my_ kitchen.”

“ _Our_ kitchen.”

“Tell me again who cooks in this relationship.”

“We switch.”

“You’re thinking of sex. The kitchen is my domain. You don’t see me poking around in your reading room, do you?”

“No one’s stopping you.”

“Nah see, that’s your lair, Sasquatch.”

“Can’t you let me do one nice thing for you on your birthday?”

“Jesus, you’re really set on doing this, huh?”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

“I’ve missed so many of them.”

“Of what?”

“Your birthdays.”

Shoulders slump, hazel eyes fall downcast. The previous strength of firm shoulders seems to drain out with just those two words. No longer trying to push his brother out the door, Sam exhales a weary sigh. 

“Fine, ruin the surprise. Whatever.”

“Sammy.”

Insistent fingers curl around the younger man’s wrist, the thumb rubs circles over smooth skin, skin that’s no longer bruised and scarred with the ghost of past hunts. Dean will never admit that he misses them. He misses brushing his lips over purple, yellowed skin. He misses tracing sensitive scars with his tongue and feeling Sam shiver under his ministrations. 

One touch is all Sam needs, though. One touch and he’s caving in; one touch and his heart skips a beat, making him feel like a teenager responding to his big brother’s touch all over again. A loose strand of hair is tucked behind his ear gently. The fingers around his wrist lead him back inside and to their couch. 

Sam can’t bring himself to pull away, to play it off and pretend it’s nothing. There’s nowhere to hide up here. It’s him and Dean, and that’s it. How do you avoid the issue when your other half knows you better than yourself? 

And still, Dean doesn’t push. He keeps rubbing his thumb in circular motions over the inside of his wrist, presses just a tiny bit to feel Sam’s heartbeat, managing to take and give comfort at the same time. Even in Heaven, memories are not so easily forgotten. Both boys constantly remind themselves they’re here together and alive, whether it be by touch or a simple stare. 

“At Stanford… I didn’t call. I was a coward and I ran, pretending I didn’t care because I _knew_ if I heard your voice I’d go back.”

“Back to hunting? To Dad?”

“To you.”

“I remember that birthday. Mostly. Think I finished two bottles of tequila by myself.”

“And all the times you died or I died, or we were apart… fuck, Dean. I’ve missed a lot.”

“We both have.”

“I just wanted today to be different, to be good.”

“Sammy, it’s already good.”

“Dean.”

“No, listen.”

To an outsider, Dean Winchester might’ve seemed a different man here. Here, he didn’t put up walls. He's open and confident as he extends an arm, tugs on Sam’s shoulder until the other was pliant enough to follow and sink into the embrace. 

There was no tough exterior, no gruff voice and dismissal of chick flick moments. Here, Dean’s lips are sure of their movement as they press to Sam’s temple and his fingers are gentle where they trail up the nape of his neck, tease the skin like raindrops before they settle onto his scalp, where they begin a familiar and tender massage. 

Sam was no outsider. Sam had experienced it all. He’d wormed his way under those walls a long time ago. His brother’s motions were ones Sam relished, and he gratefully lets them envelop him, keeping him safe and warm inside this cozy little bubble where it was just the two of them. Sam and Dean. Their initials anciently carved into each other’s souls. 

“I don’t need burgers and pie on my birthday, or even a big get together with all our friends cause I know you must’ve been planning that too. This birthday’s already better than all the previous ones, you know why? You and I. We’re together. We made it, Sammy. Finish line.”

“You deserve more.”

“More than you? Sweetheart, there ain’t no such thing.”

“Heaven’s made you soft.”

“But you make me hard.”

“You really had to cheapen the moment, didn’t you?”

“Damn straight. I can only say mushy crap for so long.”

“Before your fragile masculinity shatters?”

“Suddenly I’m not feeling so loved on my special day.”

“You know, I _was_ making pie. Not burgers though, figured they wouldn’t be as good as yours.”

“My burgers _are_ pretty awesome.”

“And you’re so modest about it, too.”

“What’d you make then?”

“Grilled cheese.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“Still sure you don’t need food on your birthday?”

“I mean.... wouldn’t hurt.”

“Pie too? It’s pecan.”

“You really pulled out all the stops.”

A sheepish smile and a sweet blush that Dean stores away in the precious memories he’s made in Heaven grace Sam’s face. His giant little brother shrugs and scratches the back of his neck like it’s no big deal, like he doesn’t completely own Dean’s heart and he still goes through the hassle of preparing shit for him. 

And it’s exactly this kind of flutter in his heart, this tugging on his soul and the way his fingers itch to touch that render him speechless; it’s exactly moments like these where Dean has to step back and be sort of amazed that Sam chose him. Over Jessica, over college, over a normal life. He chose Dean. 

“Told you I wanted it to be special.”

“Already was.”

Their gazes meet. Time seems to freeze and once again it’s just the two of them. Sam searches green for a minute and he must like what he finds because not a second later he grants Dean with a bright smile, the kind that’s only reserved for him.

Dean isn’t sappy, hell, he’s not even good with words but Sam makes him want to be better, he makes Dean want to say everything he can’t. Instead, always one for taking action, Dean cups Sam’s cheek, guides him into a kiss of unspoken words and emotions too intense for anyone to handle, emotions that are constantly begging to be felt.

Devotion, protection, family. Love. Whatever it is. 

“Let me help.”

“No.”

“Really, Sam?”

“You are gonna sit on this couch, relax and wait till I’m done,” the words are whispered against pink lips, an equally pink tongue swipes over the flesh and pearly white teeth are not far behind, conditioned to nibble and mark their property.

“Let me do this for you,” Sam reiterates, thumbs over Dean’s bottom lip and smiles.

Dean’s truly helpless to do anything but murmur an affirmation. Sometimes he thinks Sam’s gotta have him under some kind of spell, one that makes him feel pleasantly buzzed when his brother does stupid shit like just smile at him. Must be it. Totally.

So, Dean does. He follows those instructions to a T and stays on their couch, leans back and lets Sam’s humming lull him into this trance where he’s not fully conscious. On a whim, he wraps the blanket that still smells of his brother’s cologne around himself, even though it’s not freezing anymore.

The smells wafting through the air keep him in the present and when it’s done, when Sam presses a kiss to his cheek and hands him his plate, Dean realizes there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Dead or alive. Heaven or Earth. None of it matters as long as Sam’s by his side. _No one_ else matters now but him; and perhaps it’s always been that way. 

This dimpled, bright-eyed boy who loves him to the moon and back, who will silently stargaze with him and hold him back when needed, and soothe his wounds and kiss the pain away. He’s the one that matters. He will cook and bake and make a fool out of himself trying, all of it for Dean; all of it for the green-eyed boy with wrinkles in his eyes and freckles down his spine. 

There’s no one else. It’s Sam and Dean. 

Together, they eat. Together they celebrate what once upon a time they couldn’t have. 

Cheese melts in Dean’s mouth and Sam hisses, shoves him hard on the chest when Dean kisses him just to be an asshole, burning the tip of Sam’s tongue in the process. Not even Sam’s bitchface can stop the laughter that bubbles freely out of Dean. Not even a burnt tongue is enough for Sam to begrudge this deserved happiness. 

And when it’s time for pie, Dean might make a remark about the crust but that’s as far as he goes because he doesn’t want to wash away Sam’s proud smile. It really is good pie, after all. He’ll have to ask Sam for the recipe because Dean might be the cook but if this is the result of Sam baking, his brother might be on his way to create sweets. 

Cook and baker sounds like a good combo. Dean wouldn’t expect anything less than for Sam to complement him in the kitchen too. 

“Was it worth the wait?”

“Can’t talk. Too full.”

“I did warn you about that third slice of pie.”

“Could’ve nagged me more.”

“Figured I’d keep my mouth shut on your special day.”

“But now I’m _suffering_.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“How am I supposed to end this day with a bang if I can’t move?”

“I’ll just give you some Pepto and you’ll be good as new.”

“I had plans.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Hot date with our bed, the cuffs and maybe that whipped cream you got for the pie.”

“Sounds sticky.”

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a ‘you better had planned a second round of shower sex if you want me to agree’”

“Shower sex is overrated.”

“Shower blowjobs?”

“Better.”

“Can I add an item to that list?”

“Blindfold?”

“Um, no. This.”

Getting off of the couch, Sam’s previously calm demeanor falters yet he forces his hands to move, to unbutton his jeans and turn around so Dean can see as he pulls them down.

A hitched breath and a tiny, almost wounded sound which if Sam didn’t know better, he’d call it a whimper reach his ears.

“Fuck, they’re…”

“Silky. They uh, feel kind of nice, actually.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Get your ass upstairs and on the bed. And you better be wearing _only_ those panties by the time I get there.”

Turns out the Pepto isn’t needed anymore to treat Dean’s stomach pain. Sam’s little surprise is enough of a motivator.

Yes, with this final addition, Dean will surely rank this birthday as one of the best he’s ever had. 


End file.
